Believing
by JenniferJF
Summary: Prologue and Epilogue to Line in the Sand. SamJack ship. Spoilers for both parts. Chapter one reads complete, but second part will fill in the aftermath.
1. Confidence

Jack stopped paying attention to the IOA representative about halfway through the meeting. Exactly when, as a matter of fact, he'd figured out that the meeting was merely a formality. The IOA had made its decision already.

So here he sat in his office listening to this idiot ramble on about Carter's preliminary report on extra-dimensional phase shifting as though anyone at the IOA had the faintest idea what any of the report meant. Although in all honesty Jack didn't really understand it himself. She had tried to explain it to him the last time they'd talked, but her voice and her excitement had had their usual effect on him and he couldn't remember much of the conversation after "Hi, Jack."

Which he probably shouldn't have thought about now, under the circumstances. Especially since the IOA were insisting that Sam and the rest of SG-1 take her device out for a test drive on P3C-whatever as soon as they returned from their current mission this afternoon, so he would almost certainly be canceling his flight this weekend. But the man did mention Carter. And it had been two weeks, dammit. Life was not fair.

He tried one last time, knowing it was futile. "I know her preliminary report says she thinks it can be ready within the week. That's a heck of a lot different than having a fully field ready version operable within three days."

As Jack had expected, Mr. Rossier, the IOA's new French delegate, refused to change his mind. He had already won, and they both knew it. "General O'Neill, the IOA and I understand your concern, but it has been nearly two months since we have seen anything tangible come out of the SGC, and we need something concrete we can bring back to our countries to justify our continued involvement…" Rossier let his voice trail off after that implied threat to the SGC's funding.

Jack really hated politics. Really. Hated. Politics. Sitting back in his chair, he nodded. He was finished. At least this meant he could get rid of the human leech sitting across his desk from him. "Alright. I'll let General Landry know. Anything else I can do for you?"

Rossier shook his head. "No, General O'Neill. I've taken up enough of your _valuable_ time." And then, finally, the man stood up to leave. Jack didn't stand up in response, and by the glint in Rossier's eyes, he could tell the other man had not missed the insult.

Good, Jack thought, he'd shot guys who'd pissed him off less. It was a palpable relief when with an 'Au revoir," Rossier turned and finally left Jack's office.

With a sigh, Jack picked up the phone to call Hank Landry. The irony was not lost on him that, outside the members of SG-1, it was he with the most to lose and the greatest issuing the orders. He just didn't think it was very funny.

Jack was certain that if anyone could pull this thing off it was Carter and the rest of SG-1. Still, for some reason he couldn't quite figure out – maybe instinct born from years of experience – something about the whole situation gave him a very bad feeling. A really bad feeling.

Halfway through his conversation with Hank, Jack made up his mind.

-o-o-o-o-

Sam sat perched on the lab stool, staring at Arthur's mantle. For once, her mind was blank. She stared at the device and saw – nothing. No ideas, no matter how crazy, sprang to her mind. Damn. Okay, she'd been blocked before. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to concentrate…

"Colonel Carter."

She jumped on the stool, startled like a naughty child by the sudden loud voice behind her. God, but the man could move quietly when he wanted to. Knowing she was grinning from ear-to-ear like an idiot, she turned to look at him. "Sir? What are you doing here?"

"My job, Carter… Protecting the National Interest... We can't have our best hope for getting Merlin's device working passing out from hunger." He was making a joke, but his eyes caught and held hers, letting her see the truth behind the flippancy of the words.

She thoughtfully chewed on her bottom lip as she glanced back down at the device. "I'm not sure I can make it work in time," she finally admitted, matching his honesty.

"_I_ know that, _I_ could tell from your report. I tried to tell 'em, but they weren't listening."

She sighed as she looked back up at him, not missing the set of his jaw or the narrowing of his eyes as she did. "It's not your fault, Sir," she quickly reassured him, having recognized the expression. She joked back at him, trying to convince him it really was okay. "Damn politicians."

It worked, and a brief smile crossed his features. "Well, they are right about one thing, Carter. If anyone can pull this off…"

She suddenly felt much better. "Thank you, Sir."

This time, his smile stayed "Always, Carter," he said, with a tenderness that matched the hidden meaning. But then, in a lighter tone, he continued, "And now, as much as I would _love_ standing here and watching you work all night, even you can't go forever without food and sleep."

"Yes, Sir."

"Good." He gestured towards the hallway behind him. "Then lets go find you something to eat."

Sam laughed. It was one of the most backwards invitations to dinner she had ever received. But of course he knew she wouldn't refuse. She nodded and hopped off the stool. However, being Sam, she still couldn't quite resist getting in the last word. As she brushed past Jack and out into the hall, she stopped and smiled back over her shoulder at him, speaking softly so as to thwart the security system. "And after that, Sir… We should probably get some food…"

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sam returned to the SGC and the problem of Arthur's mantle early the next morning, her ability to concentrate fully restored and by the time SG-1 left for P9C-882 late that afternoon, she was fairly confident she had solved the power supply problem she had been working on. But she _had_ been wrong before.


	2. Blame

General O'Neill stood apart from the rest of the group, unwilling to leave Samantha Carter's bedside by even three feet. Doctor Lam was informing SG-1 that, despite having pulled through surgery remarkably well considering the severity of her injuries and the extent of her blood loss, the delay in treatment had resulted in septicaemia. Though, as Lam hastened to add with a glance towards the General, Sam was still expected to eventually make a full recovery. It would just take longer than anyone had anticipated.

Out of the corner of his eye, because he really was trying to give him as much privacy as the crowded room allowed, Cameron Mitchell could see General O'Neill flinch ever so slightly at the news. But that was the man's only visible reaction.

"Thanks, doc," Cam said, and with a last worried glance towards her most serious patient and that patient's human shadow, the young doctor, who never seemed to have enough time, rushed from the room. Cam turned towards his remaining team members. There was nothing they could do here to help, and he suspected the General would rather be alone with his wife. They would just be in his way. "So? Anyone else hungry?"

"Famished!" Vala replied a bit too enthusiastically. She had obviously also figured out that they weren't wanted there.

"Indeed," Teal'c agreed.

"Good." And then, because he could only imagine when he had last eaten, Cam asked, "General O'Neill?"

The General looked up and Cam could tell by the dark smudges under his eyes that, regardless of when he had last eaten, the older man hadn't slept since SG-1 had restored communications to the SGC and called in a Medical Team for Colonel Carter. "I'm not --" O'Neill began in protest.

Cam never knew if the General was going to refuse to leave Sam's side or actually try to convince them that he wasn't hungry. Teal'c saved him the trouble, interrupting the General mid-sentence to order: "Colonel Mitchell will return with food, O'Neill." One glare in his direction silenced any question Cam might have had about that arrangement.

O'Neill sighed in defeat. "Sure, Teal'c," he agreed. "It's been – awhile since I've eaten."

A faint smile might have crossed the Jaffa's impassive features as he nodded. "Indeed. Goodbye, O'Neill. Colonel Mitchell will return," and with that, Teal'c gestured for the others to proceed him out the door.

Cam slowed down so he was walking next to Teal'c as they headed towards the commissary. "Hey, Teal'c," he began, unable to resist his curiosity at the Jaffa's actions. "Why were you so insistent that I bring the General's food? We could have found an Airman to bring it up to him."

"Because you need to speak with General O'Neill."

"I what?" That made no sense.

"I have observed," Teal'c patiently explained, "that you and General O'Neill need to talk."

"Teal'c, man. I am the last person I'm sure the General wants to speak to. Isn't there anyone better?"

Teal'c stopped walking and looked Cam straight in the face. "There is, Colonel Mitchell. However, he is currently unavailable."

The reference to Daniel Jackson, their missing teammate and one of General O'Neill's best friends could not escape Cam. He looked across at Teal'c one last time, but the man remained infuriatingly silent. Cam sighed. Looked like he was going to be speaking to General O'Neill.

------------------

When Cam returned to Carter's room with General O'Neill's tray, he found the door slightly open. Since the General was expecting him and Cam's hands were full, he nudged the door open with his foot and stepped into the room. Jack O'Neill had pulled a chair up to his wife's bedside and was sitting next to her and holding her hand as Cam approached. He looked up at the sound of Cam's footsteps, but he did not release Sam's hand.

"Sorry, sir," Cam apologized, straightening awkwardly under the General's gaze. "But I brought your food."

"Thanks, Mitchell. Set it over there." O'Neill pointed towards a small table in the corner with his free hand. "I'll get to it later."

Instead of the spot indicated, Cam set the tray down on the small bedside table. "Sir, I think Teal'c meant for you to eat it now… And we wouldn't want to disappoint Teal'c…"

The General tried to smile, but the expression barely touched his mouth, let alone his eyes. "You catch on pretty quick, Mitchell." Absentmindedly, O'Neill picked up the fork and began reorganizing the corn on his plate.

Cam couldn't let the false praise stand, especially when so much of the older man's pain was his fault. "Not fast enough, it would seem. I'm sorry, sir."

To Cam's surprise, General O'Neill seemed genuinely confused by the apology. He took his eyes off the modern-art he was making of his food to ask, "For what?"

Cam gestured towards Sam's unconscious form. "Her…" He kept his eyes fixed determinedly on Sam as he confessed. "Sir, what happened to her… I should have done a better job of securing her position. Especially after what happened with Daniel. This is all my fault."

Finished, Cam dared to look back up at the General, only to find the other man looking back at him in confusion. He wasn't sure how he'd expected O'Neill to react to his admission, but this was certainly not it. O'Neill continued to stare at Cam for a long, endless moment before finally asking, in obvious disbelief, "What?!?"

"I said, sir, that this is my—"

The General interrupted him, gesturing madly with his fork as he did so. "I heard what you said, Mitchell. I just… For cryin' out loud, how could this possibly be _your_ fault?"

Cam opened his mouth to re-explain but O'Neill continued before he could. "Considering the situation, a second team should have been sent just to pull security. Not that any of you should have been there in the first place. The entire mission was wrong from the get-go, but the IOA was insistent. So, Mitchell, unless you've suddenly been put in charge of the IOA, this is hardly _your_ fault."

Something in the General's tone when he repeated that final phrase caught Mitchell's attention. "Sir, whose fault _is _it?" The expression that flashed briefly across General O'Neill's face confirmed Cam's suspicions. Teal'c was a lot smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for. Cam still couldn't hid his disbelief as he asked, "You think this is _your_ fault?"

This time, when O'Neill looked at him, Cam couldn't mistake the pain in his eyes. "Cam…" he warned.

Cam took a deep breath, unsure how to continue. But the idea that this was somehow O'Neill's fault -- that was too ridiculous. "Sir, are you trying to tell me you didn't do everything you possibly could to convince the IOA that this mission was crap?" The General opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and turned away, concentrating instead on the important task of shoveling all his corn back to the right side of his plate. Cam just couldn't let it go, though. "With all due respect, sir, if this isn't _my_ fault, and I was there, it sure as hell can't be _your_ fault. It's not your job any more. Sir."

The General's fork immediately stopped its motion, and Cam realized he might have gone too far. Despite having the General at several team nights over the past few months, Cam didn't really know the man that well. He stood next to O'Neill, holding his breath for several long moments. Both men stared at the now still fork in silence. Finally, with a clatter loud in the quiet room, the fork dropped onto the plate and General O'Neill looked up at Cam. "Damn it, Mitchell. This whole thing sucks. Just when I think I may have gotten the hang of it--" He broke off, gesturing towards Sam by way of explanation.

"Yes, sir. It does. But now I think I get why Sam wanted to remain at Area 51…"

His frankness seemed to surprise the older man, who suddenly smiled despite himself. "Unfortunately, Mitchell, that whole 'saving the world' thing came up, and you'd be surprised how few people have that on their resume…"

Now it was Cam's turn to smile, though more out of relief that the General had obviously found some sort of peace than that his joke was actually funny. "Yes, sir." Sam stirred slightly in the bed, and O'Neill's attention was drawn back to her. Cam figured he had probably done as much good as he could, and it was about time for him to leave. "Well, I'd better be going, sir. Reports.. you know…" He turned and headed towards the door.

Halfway across the room, the General called back to him. "Cameron."

"Yes, sir?"

"Thanks. For everything." And this time, finally, General O'Neill's smile really did reach his eyes.


	3. Fault

Her first conscious thought: Why did it hurt to breathe?

In fact, why did everything hurt? There'd been somewhere else moments ago. Somewhere that didn't hurt. Somewhere safe and warm and if she could just let herself go again, let herself sink back into safety and warmth… Maybe she could find it again…

She was sitting on the dock, the sun warm on her face, a gentle breeze off the water ruffling her hair…

Only it was so hard to breathe. And suddenly she was in the water, drowning: sinking, struggling to breathe. Struggling to surface despite the weight pulling her back down because there was something else she should be doing. Something else she had to do.

She must not sleep. Had to stay awake because… because… Because…?

Damn it. Why couldn't she think? Her thoughts lay in fragments, yet the urgency remained. Disjointed memories lay tumbled together in her mind, and she knew they were important. There was a village-- and a device. The Ori -- and blood. Her blood…

Jack. She needed to survive. She needed to tell him, to make sure he knew...

Her eyes flew open. Instead of the village 'library', she was miraculously back at the SGC. And instead of Cam's worried face… "Jack."

He was leaning over her immediately, one hand tightening around her fingers as the other brushed across her forehead, tucking back her ever wayward hair. "Yeah, baby, I'm here. You're okay," he murmured gently, but the light dancing in his eyes had already reassured her of her condition more certainly than mere words ever could. And reassured her of his, as well.

She smiled, pain momentarily forgotten at the sight of him. "You too."

"You betcha," he joked. Then, more seriously, "Mitchell told me what happened. You did good, Sam. And Mitchell helped me realize…" he paused, and she was surprised when, instead of the awkwardness she had expected, he smiled proudly as he announced: "We have officially decided to blame the entire fiasco on the politicians."

She laughed, surprised and delighted that he really did seem to be okay, and that maybe the image which had haunted her nightmares – the image Daniel had shared one night years and years ago of Jack before that first mission through the Stargate -- might finally fade. The sudden movement, however, sent a new wave of pain through her and she couldn't hide the groan which followed.

His smile shifted rapidly to concern. "Sam?"

"I'm okay.. just…" she gestured vaguely, unable to really be more clear in the face of the pain.

"Damn. Dr. Lam mentioned you might need something more when you woke. Let me…" He reached for the IV tube curled on the bed next to her and scrambled for the device attached to it. "Here." He passed it to her. Sam had been on an infuser pump before – too many times before, frankly – and Jack knew that only too well. She gratefully pressed the button which would send more pain meds coursing into her veins. They worked quickly, and she felt the familiar drug-euphoria wash over her.

Jack smiled at her, obviously recognizing her response himself. "Feel better?"

She yawned.

His smile grew wider.

Her eyes closed. But, before she slept. "Jack?"

"I'll be right here." And though she knew the next word he said, she never heard it. She was already asleep. "Always."


End file.
